


Earth Angel

by dreamingseventeen



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Also I would kill for the car Hansol has in this fic, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, F/M, Fluff, I would also die to see Seungkwan and Chan in true prep clothes, It's a 50s AU the main AU being that there's no racism, Once again Seungcheol is here because I cannot get rid of him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 20:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18764026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingseventeen/pseuds/dreamingseventeen
Summary: Hansol is a greaser in 1950s America with the classic slicked-back hair, black sunglasses, and a leather jacket to match. His friends say he has to come to the school sock hop, but he finds it a little difficult to ask you; he may a bit more genteel than he lots on, however.





	Earth Angel

“I’ll get it, Ma,” you called, pacing down the hallway to your front door. Whoever was on the other side was getting impatient, as they knocked again. “Coming!”

It was a Friday night in October. Mid-term exams were fast approaching, so you were spending the evening in a cramped corner of your bedroom with your nose stuck in your chemistry textbook. The faint audio of I Love Lucy re-runs drifted out of the living room and your mother had all the windows in the kitchen opened wide to let out the suffocating steam from dinner. You straightened the basic crew neck you were wearing before swinging open the door.

“Hansol,” you hissed, hastily stepping out onto your front stoop and closing the door behind you. You subconsciously looked over his form: his jet-black gelled hair, the fitted blue jeans beneath a flattering white t-shirt covered by his everyday leather jacket. The leather of your Converse shoes touched the tips of his pointed, laced shoes of leather as black as his jacket. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s no way to greet me, baby,” he chuckled. He reached out and ran an index finger along the collar of your sweater. “What are ya wearing this for?”

“What do you mean?” You exhaled in disbelief, a fiery blush overtaking your face. “If my parents see you, I’ll be hang–”

“Did you forget about the sock hop?” He interrupted. You grimaced at him tilting his head toward his right shoulder with that all-too-familiar smirk playing on his lips.

“Didn’t forget, I’m just too busy studying.” You jabbed a finger into his firm chest. “And you should be, too. Besides, I never said I would go with you.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” he pouted. You watched his fingers play with the zipper on his jacket. “All the guys have fine young ladies with them and I’m not about to be left out.”

“Oh, so you want an ornament,” you laughed sarcastically. “I heard Mary-Tom’s free tonight. Why don’t you drop by her place?” You reached for the doorknob, but his hand, a bit cold from the autumn air, caught your arm.

“Didn’t mean it like that, Y/N, you know I didn’t.”

You stared at him contemplatively, and he stared right back. You had known him for years, been in homerooms with him from grade to grade, but he had never taken any real interest in you like he had with some other girls. His friends knew you well, and you enjoyed their company, even if it usually did mean mischief. You looked over his shoulder, eyeing the sleek red convertible sitting idle.

“I’ll go tell my parents a fib or two. Meet me at the intersection of Seventh and Fairgood in twenty.”

He grinned emphatically, knowing he had gained this small victory, and swaggered back to his convertible. “See ya, babe.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He could only laugh as he slipped his sunglasses on his face and drove away.

You bobbed your head along with the rhythmic tapping your ghillie shoes made on the pavement of the sidewalk. The white-cotton socks beneath the dainty laces prevented the sides from digging into your feet. You wore a black sweater and a pale blue circle skirt; you considered wearing your new poodle skirt, but you put it away at the thought of making Hansol’s ego any larger. You had to sneak past the kitchen and living room, as you certainly were not dressed for a study session at Mary-Tom’s like you had claimed.

Finally, the bright reflection of red in the sunset’s light caught your eye on the street corner and you climbed into Hansol’s passenger seat. Per usual, Billie Holiday’s sweet voice was flowing through the speakers. He whistled at your outfit and reached across you to put your seatbelt on for you. “Y/N, don’t you look right fine.”

“Oh, quiet,” you giggled, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. “Not to be a party-pooper, but I have to be home by ten.”

“Not a problem,” he hummed, changing gears and smoothly flying up the street. He flung his right arm across the seat behind you and gripped the cream steering wheel with his left hand. 

“I’m glad you haven’t lost your love for Billie Holiday,” you commented, fluffing up your hair with your hands.

“Oh, I listen to a bit of everything. Seungkwan told me you bought some Sinatra and Presley records the other day.”

“Yes, I love them,” you grinned. He looked at you fondly, amused at your excitement. “No doubt they’ll have some Elvis on tonight, huh?”

“Let’s hope so,” he said. He parked on the street next to the school, as the parking lot behind the gymnasium was filled to capacity with hot-rods and groups of students standing around. Hansol got out and chivalrously opened your door before offering his arm. You linked your forearm around his and marched into the gymnasium at his side.

“Hey, Hansol!” Seungkwan and Chan immediately called out. They were both more of the prep type, so they wore simple sweaters and khakis with brown Oxfords to match. Or they would have been, if their shoes didn’t line the walls along with all the others. You and Hansol stepped out of your shoes and walked across the polished wood-plank court to greet them.

“Hey, you two,” you smiled, waving at Seungkwan and hugging Chan. Hansol side-eyed Chan but said nothing. “How are you?”

“Just waitin’ for this thing to get started,” Seungkwan groaned, reclining against the painted brick wall. Chan nodded in agreement, popping the gum in his mouth.

“Where are your dates?” You inquired, spinning around to scan the room.

“Probably swarming around Seungcheol and Jeonghan,” Hansol interjected, receiving a punch in the shoulder from Chan. Sure enough, Seungcheol and Jeonghan were in a corner surrounded by ten or so girls.

“No matter,” you reassured them. “We’re all just here for a good time, right?”

All of a sudden, Elvis’ “Jailhouse Rock” came blasting out of the standing speakers. The huge room erupted in cheers, with guys scrambling to sweep up their partners. Hansol led you close to the middle of the crowd, holding both your hands firmly and swinging along with you in circles. Your laughs were drowned out by the music and all you could focus on was Hansol’s row of white teeth. He pulled you closer so you could hear him: “You’re good!”

“You have no idea how many times I’ve done this by myself in my room,” you admitted, and you were glad to see him laughing at your embarrassing confession. You shook with mirth when Hansol picked you up and spun you around, much to the excitement of Seokmin, who was dancing near you. 

“’Atta boy, Hansol!”

Hansol’s usually reserved personality melted away while he kicked around with you. The music switched to Dean Martin, then Ella Fitzgerald, then Buddy Holly before the two of you were so tired that you had to step aside for a bit.

“You glad you came?” Hansol cocked a brow at you as he handed you a cup of lemonade.

“It’s so much fun. Thanks for forcing me to come,” you winked at him. He nodded happily before swiping his thumb along your chin.

“Lipstick,” he explained, showing you the pink on the pad of his thumb.

“Th-Thanks,” you stammered, casting your eyes to the floor. 

“Y/N!” You heard a familiar voice call out to you. You turned to find Seungcheol jogging up to you, a glossy comb spinning through his fingers. His hair was pressed to the sides of his head with ungodly amounts of gel and the rest was piled on the top and swooped back. He had a jacket similar to Hansol’s, but his was obviously scuffed.

“Hi, Cheol,” you said. “Aren’t you a sight?”

“Not nearly as much as you!” He teased. “Can I borrow her, Hansol?”

Hansol peered at his friend over the brim of his cup before looking to you. You shrugged. “Go ahead.”

Seungcheol pulled you over to next to Jeonghan and shuffled along with you to Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood.” You looked over you shoulder to find Hansol chatting with Seungkwan again, your discarded cup on the table next to him.

“That is one unhappy boy,” Seungcheol remarked to you over the music. 

“What? Why?”

“Oh, you are one square girl!” Seungcheol cackled, twirling you around. “Hansol has had eyes for you for goodness knows how long. Put the poor boy out of his misery, Y/N.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Not in the least bit. Elizabeth and Mary-Tom were just distractions.” He got closer and wiggled his brows. “You’re the real prize, doll!”

The song ended and you smiled to Seungcheol before taking your leave. He went off to prey on another unsuspecting girl while you made your way back to Hansol.

“It’s getting late,” he told you, pulling back his sleeve to look at his watch. “You wanna head home?”

“Sadly, I think that’s a good idea.” You waved to Seungkwan, Chan already having gone off with another girl. “I think Patricia was looking for you, Seungkwan!” He disappeared immediately.

The brisk night air fanned over your burning cheeks as Hansol held the gym doors open for you. You thanked him and took his warm arm again to head back to the car. 

“Thanks for coming along, Y/N,” Hansol said. His thumb stroked your sleeve. You glanced up at his face to see a soft gaze and the faintest of smiles. Beneath all the leather and car paint-jobs, he was nervous and grinned like mad when he thought you weren’t looking.

“Not a problem,” you repeated what he had said earlier. “You’re a fantastic dancer. You should go to the studio club on Graham Street with Chan sometime.”

“Only if you went with me!” He shook his head. You waited as he opened the door for you and walked over to his own side.

The drive home was pleasant and helped cool you off. Hansol sang along to The Penguins’ “Earth Angel” in a bass tone that made you laugh until your sides hurt. “Wow, and you can sing too.”

He parked two streets over from your house. You watched him turn off the ignition and the headlights fade over the blacktop.

“I hope that was better than some chemistry textbook for you.”

You unbuckled yourself so you could slide to the middle of the adjoined seat and into his side. You could see the way his cheeks burned even in the pale moonlight on the deserted street.

“Of course.” With that, you pressed your palm to the side of his neck, your thumb resting on the soft spot behind his ear, and kissed him gently. He was obviously surprised, but quickly reciprocated, pulling you closer with his left arm while the other encircled your shoulders. You could taste the tangy lemonade and smell his musky cologne. Time escaped you and the both of you only pulled apart when you were aching for air.

“Y/N–”

He stopped when you reached up to wipe at the right side of his mouth. “Lipstick!”

Smiles broke out on both of your faces before Hansol helped you out of the car and walked you up the street. “Phone me when you get home, earth angel.”

You practically ran home, the warmth in your chest and the tingling of your lips seeming to spread through your whole body. The light on your front porch was visible from down the street, and you skipped up to the door, praying your parents were already upstairs.

Luckily, the house was silent save the television murmuring The Tonight Show. You waited for about ten minutes, pacing about the living room, before spinning around the numbers on the rotary phone.

Hansol answered after just two rings. “Y/N, we going steady or what?”


End file.
